


Home on the Range

by HawkeyeRules



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Mentions of Mental Illness, Mild Blood, Murdoc has problems, Strangling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24490063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawkeyeRules/pseuds/HawkeyeRules
Summary: If one wants to change their name in this business, one must first kill someone important to them. Murdoc is about to find this out the hard way.Alternately, my take on how Murdoc became Murdoc
Relationships: Murdoc (MacGyver TV 2016)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Home on the Range

“Home, home, on the range . . .”  
The words to the song filtered through the cotton packing his brain. He groaned, suddenly aware he couldn’t feel his left shoulder, then blinked, trying to clear his eyesight. But it didn’t work. The darkness stayed.  
Panic rushed his mind and he screamed, tongue pressing against the gag in his mouth. He thrashed and strained, but the ties holding his arms and feet together were too strong. He didn’t care. He had to get free.  
Before he wore himself out, he forced the panic down and focused on what training he could remember. The only thing he could be in was the trunk of a car. The rhythmic movement and lack of space was a dead giveaway.  
“Where the deer and the antelope play . . .”  
The absolute darkness in the trunk was suffocating, stopping any farther investigation. He strained his eyes to catch even the smallest bit of light, but there was nothing. Scooting forward, he felt the lid of the trunk with his forehead, but there wasn’t a latch.  
New car, he thought. The smell alone gave it away.  
How did he get here? He thought back as far as he could, but the last thing he could remember was sitting in his dorm, studying for—  
Finals!  
Nooooo, he groaned to himself.  
This couldn’t be happening. He was cleaning up his act. He had a job, a beautiful girlfriend, a therapist, a major. He was getting better. That couldn’t be taken from him.  
“Where seldom is heard a discouraging word . . .”  
The car hit a set of railroad tracks and he was thrown around before he could brace himself. His head landed on something hard and he cried out.  
Warm liquid slid down the side of his face and the coppery smell of blood filled the space. The pain was overwhelming and he gave in quickly to the darkness.  
“And the skies are not cloudy all day . . .”  
\-----------------------  
Rough fabric was dragged over his head, pulling painfully on the strands of hair matted down with blood.  
He shook his head, blinking the bright light out of his eyes. His mouth was dry and tasted like the gasoline that had coated the gag, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to ignore it. He couldn’t break, not that soon.  
“Good morning, Dennis,” a familiar voice said.  
He ground his teeth, staring at a crack in the concrete.  
“My name is not—”  
The slap came faster than he was expecting. His head jerked to the side, the cut on his face reopening.  
“What have I told you, Dennis?” the man asked, moving into his line of sight. “You can only choose a name for yourself once you’ve established your business. And you have not established anything other than the fact you know how to fail!”  
“That’s not my name,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “My name—”  
Another blow. This time his head was thrown back from the force of it and he crumpled to the ground, blood dripping from a split lip.  
A rough hand tangled itself in his black hair and yanked his head back.  
“Auuugh!” he hissed, teeth grinding together.  
The man stood above him, yellow teeth revealed in a sneer.  
“You failed.” He released him and paced in a circle, his voice low and dangerous. “I have tried to train others, but I have found anyone with your . . . skills.  
“You are special, Dennis. That’s the only reason you’re getting a second chance.”  
“No.” He slowly got to his feet, swaying a little. “I’m getting better. I’m happy now. I have a life. I’m not working for you.”  
The man laughed. “Look at you, so high and mighty now. Have you forgotten who saved your useless life, who gave you a purpose, who gave you the power to hurt all those who hurt you?  
“You’re like a son to me. I know you won’t let me down.”  
“Have you gone deaf, old man?” he snapped. “I. Am. Done.”  
The man lashed out, but he ducked, dodging the blow.  
“Too slow?” he laughed, but the laugh was quickly choked off by fingers wrapping around his throat.  
“You listen to me,” the man hissed. “And you listen to me well. if you want to live—and I know you do—you will kill who I tell you to kill. You will see it through, you will bring me proof of the kill, and then—and only then—you will have your name and your freedom. And freedom is all you want, isn’t it?”  
“Pl-please,” he wheezed. “L-let me go.”  
Blackness crept into his vision and he could feel his body shutting down. The detached part of his mind was listing off exactly what function were shutting down and long there would be until permanent damage, but he didn’t care. He need air, and fast.  
“You know the rules, Dennis.”  
“Please—please.” His frantic attempts at freeing himself were becoming weaker, the darkness was getting closer, and he already hated himself for the words he was about to say.  
“I promise.”  
The man released him.  
He collapsed to the ground, coughing as air rushed down his bruised windpipe. A file was dropped to the floor in front of him, one corner turning dark with his blood.  
“Don’t fail.”  
\--------------------------  
The diner was too loud, too chaotic, too many people. His mind raced with possibilities of how to fix all those problems. Mostly the people problem.  
The waiter serving him kept glancing at his black eye, but wisely didn’t say anything. He was strung too tight and was already contemplating how to kill him with the fork.  
His mark went to this diner every Tuesday for a coffee and scone, then would head to the library. He had all of three hours to kill whoever they were. But he knew this diner. This was where he would meet Abigail every Saturday night after his therapy session for pie and ice cream.  
A knot was starting to form in his stomach.  
The bell above the door rang, but he didn’t look up. He had been trained too well for that. He first counted to sixty, then glanced first at the kitchen, like he was waiting for his food, then at the rest of the diner.  
Old couple, young teens, footballs team, auburn hair, hippie, family—  
He broke every rule of his training and stared in horror. Abigail was here.  
She was sitting at the counter, sipping a cup of coffee, a scone in front of her.  
His heart sank. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. Not Abigail. Anyone but Abigail.  
But he had promised. It was either her . . . or him.  
He couldn’t do this. He had to do this.  
“Cassian?”  
Abigail. His heart sank farther.  
She was standing right in front of him, bright smile on her face and ever-present book in her hand.  
“Abigail!” he forced a smile to his face. “Fancy running into a beauty such as you here!”  
She laughed and gestured to across from him, auburn hair falling over her shoulder. “May I?”  
“Of course,” he nodded.  
She sat and her smile faded when she saw his face.  
“Cassian, what happened? Did you get into fight?”  
“Obviously I didn’t walk into a door,” he snapped, regretting his words instantly. “I’m sorry, Abby. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s— it’s just been a long day.”  
“The session not go well?”  
“What—oh, yeah, no it went fine, darling. Just, finals and all that.”  
“I know, right?”  
She started talking about her tests and studying and how she never had time for fun anymore, and with each word he could feel his resolve weakening.  
But he was acutely aware of who was sitting in a car outside, shotgun next to him, waiting to kill him if he failed.  
It was her or him, him or her. And he had always been a coward.  
“Abigail,” he said quickly, interrupting her. “It’s a little too crowded in here. Do you mind if we took a walk?”  
“Not at all,” she said, her smiling growing.  
He stood and offered her his arm. She took it and they left the diner, turning left.  
There were people, too many people. His mind was overwhelmed, trying to take it all in, ignore it all, deal with it all. Too much. Too much!  
“Cassian?” Abigail’s hand was warm on his arm. Warm, like freshly spilled blood. “Are you okay?”  
He ran a hand through his black hair, trying to keep from spiraling. This was it. This was his moment.  
He pulled Abigail into an alley and wrapped his fingers around her throat. The world blurred and tears streamed down his face as she begged and cried . . . and went still.  
It was over.  
He stepped back and took a deep breath, wiping the tears from his face. He had done it. He had killed.  
“Good job, Dennis.”  
He clenched his hands into fists and forced himself to look away from Abigail’s still body.  
“My name,” he gritted out. “is Murdoc.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first fic, so if anyone has suggestions or advice on how to tag better, i would love to hear it! I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
